My name is Macnamara, I'm the leader of a band, And though we're small in number, We're the best in all the land. Of course l'm the conductor And l've often had to play With all the fine musicians That you read about today.
Chorus: The drums they bang, the cymbals clang, The horns they blaze away, Macarthy puffs the ould bassoon, Doyle (And I) the pipes does play. Hennessey tuteily tootles the flute, The music is something grand, And a credit to ould Ireland's boys Is Macnamara's Band.
Whenever an election's on We play on either side, And the way we play the fine ould airs Fills every heart with pride. If dear Tom Moore was living now He'd make them understand That none can do him justice Like ould Macnamara's Band.
We play for fairs or weddings And for every County Ball, And at any great man's funeral We play "The Dead March in Saul." When General Grant to Ireland came He shook me by the hand, And said he never heard the like Of ould Macnamara's Band.
Just now we are practicing For a very grand affair, It's an annual celebration, All the gentry will be there. The girls and boys will all turn out With flags and colours grand, And in front of the procession Will be Macnamara's Band.